I am Iceland
by ShrapnelGirl
Summary: Oneshot. Iceland enjoys the first day of spring and thinks back to his settlement and first time meeting Norway. Includes settlers that arrived before Ingólfur Arnarsson, the acclaimed "finder" of Iceland.


Yay! My first ever real fan fiction! Aren't you excited? ^^

This little drabble came up when I was trying to write another fictional piece. I don't know how it happened, but somehow this story was born.

_Disclaimer: I do not own these characters!_

Have a nice read!

**Update 7.3.2013 - **Milana16 ( u/4513111/Milana16) has just translated this oneshot into Polish! Check out her amazing translation here: s/9074580/1/I-am-Iceland-Version-Pl

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><p>On an island far away from the mainland of Europe, a young boy rested on a bed of moss. The wind was cold, coming in from the sea, but the boy hardly felt it. The moss had drained in so much warmth from the sun, and the boy was shielded from most of the wind by a small hill, ridden with tussocks.<p>

It was an evening in early spring and the sun had long since left the island. Sandy, black mountains rose high behind the boy, halfgrown with brightgreen moss and low shrubberry. Before him lay the sea, bubbling with a deep uncalm. A storm was coming. The boy could feel it in his bones.

He always felt restless on days like these. He told himself it was because the wind was changing directions, but deep down he knew that the uneasiness lay with himself. A day like this, when he lay in wait for a storm, not knowing when it would come or how bad it would be; such a day always reminded the boy of how little influence he really had on the world.

He was a nobody.

And still he was one of the rarest people on earth.

The boy rose up to a sitting position when he heard a familiar bird call. The wind got to him easier now but he didn't care. He heard the call again. The boy stood up. He had a better view of the fjord now. He let his gaze wander between the tussocs and rocks, searching. The bird called again. This time the boy's eyes found it. A smile formed on his lips. He had thought right, it was indeed a European Golden Plover, or Lóa, as his people affectionately called the bird. It was the messenger of the Spring, and when it's call was heard on the island the people knew that winter was finally over.

It was a long time since winter had posed any real threat in Iceland. Nowadays the homes were sturdier, warmer. Heated with geothermal energy, no less. But the boy could remember different times, far back in time, when General Winter claimed many a poor man's life; when the snow covered the island and the sea around it was thick with ice. It had been cold times. And dark.

The boy could feel a faint sting in his ears now. He rubbed them with his fingers, trying to get them warm again, but it was too cold. He decided it was time to head home.

Hopefully his pet puffin had remembered to close the windows like the boy had asked him to. The wind was getting stronger.

The boy let his mind wander as he struggled across the uneven landscape. He thought of a time before this land was settled, before even the Papar arrived with their clinging bells. A time when the rocks and mountains were crawling with night-trolls, hidden people and other creatures of ancient origin. The boy had thought himself one of them. But they died and he did not, and yet he was no ghost, for he could not walk through walls. He had lived a long time before he met humans, creatures faintly resembling him, but still so different.

It had been on a day a little like this, but in late winter. The waves were growing bigger, the wind stronger. The boy had come to the shore to check up on the sea-cows he had borrowed from the people of the sea. They seemed restless and it had worried him. When the longship came to view with it's roaring dragon head, the cows got scared and fled into the ocean. The boy had been left all alone to greet the first humans he had ever seen.

The leader of the small group was named Naddoddur. He greeted the boy with unfamiliar words, and when he did not answer the man only smiled. His group did not stay long. They snooped around a bit, and strangely enough, after a few days the boy could understand their words. They called him a _child_. They said that his land was wast and good, and that there were no other humans on it. The boy had already known that. Before they set sail Naddoddur offered to take the boy with him to the Faero Islands, but he had not wanted to go. He felt a connection with this land and was terrified to leave it. They did not make him. Naddoddur and his men left, but first they named the land they had found. It was snowing in the mountains, so they decided to call the land Snæland. Snowland.

A little later another group arrived on the shore of the boy's beloved land. The leader of this group was named Garðar Svavarsson and claimed to come from a land named Sweden. He had heard of this uninhabited land from Naddoddur and set out to investigate it. This group staid longer. They built houses in the bay and named it Húsavík. Bay of Houses. After having sailed around the land Garðar told the boy that he was living on an island. The boy had known that. He started to wonder if humans existed only to tell him things he already knew, and to give his land names that it didn't need.

Needless to say, before Garðar and his group left they gave the island a new name: Garðarshólmi. The Island of Garðar.

When the Papar came the boy had already gotten used to the intrusion. Those men had different words for things than the ones that had come before, but just as last time, after a few days the boy could understand them. They told him they came from another island far away, named Ireland, and that they believed in God. And just as the groups that had arrived before them, those men gave his island a new name: Thule. They staid longer than the last two groups, left, came again and left again. When the fourth group came to visit the boy's land the Papar left for the last time. They said it was because the didn't want to share land with pagans, people that did not believe in their god.

The boy had long since forgotten the tongue of the Papar. He found it sad, but such was life. The fourth group to invade his land took it over: they built more houses, brought in animals that looked like sick and weary versions of the animals the hidden people and the people of the sea farmed. And again, they gave his land a new name: Ísland. Iceland.

It was the first name the boy had taken a liking to, and it had stuck.

The boy had known from the start that the humans were not like him. They were fragile. They got sick and they died. The boy wondered if he would ever die too. He did not know.

It was only when the fourth group, undir Ingólfur Arnarson, came to Iceland that the boy met another like him. He was small like a child, but still treated like an adult. His people called him Norway. It was Norway who had told the boy that he was a _nation_ and that the people that had arrived now belonged to him.

"I am their nation?" the boy had asked. Norway had laid a hand on his shoulder. No one had ever laid a hand on his shoulder before.

"You are Iceland. You are this land, you are the people and they are you."

The boy had thought about it for a while. It didn't sound so bad. Those people would stay with him. They belonged to him, and he belonged to them. He was them. He was...

"I am Iceland," the boy said. Norway nodded. "And I will remain Iceland?" he had asked. Norway nodded again.

"Yes. And you are also my brother, and will remain my brother. Forever."

"What is a brother?" Iceland asked. Norway smiled. Without a warning he pulled Iceland in for a tight hug. It felt weird. It was only later that Iceland learned that this had been his first time encountering _warmth_.

"This is being a brother," Norway whispered. "It is being close, being comfortable and always sticking together. Always being there for one another. You think you can do that?"

Iceland hadn't answered. He'd only hugged his brother harder.

Iceland had almost reached his house by the time the first raindrops fell. He could smell it in the air that this was not the type of rain that reigned in winter. This was spring rain, a light drizzle meant to wake the plants from their sleep.

It was time for him too to wake up from his sleep. Spring was coming. It was time to go visit his brother.

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><p>Thanks so much for reading this! This is, as I said before, my first fan fiction. I am not sure if I am doing this right, or if it is a good piece, so any and all reviews are greatly appreciated! I am also not sure how to find the so called "Beta readers" so any advice on that would be appreciated too. English is my second language so there might be some errors in the text, but I hope it does not bother you guys too much... Have a nice day :D.<p> 


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